Lucid
by Lasso the Moon
Summary: "It gave me time to think, for once." What Tony was up to in Scotland. Mid-season 4.


**_May 1914_**

_The cool lemonade soothed Tony's dry throat as he looked out at the harbor in the distance from the Gillingham estate, Lydborn Court. He had just graduated from Cambridge with a degree in engineering. His family had balked at first at his rather unorthodox ( middle class even ) choice in study, but it had been Johnny that had convinced them to let him do it. 'It's just a bit of fun, and he's always been good at figures. Let him do what he likes, Dad.' His father agreed, and of course Mama had been on his side from the beginning. It was true that he did enjoy mathematics, for whatever reason, above the Classics or literature, which Johnny had studied before him. It wasn't that he didn't like books—of course he did—but he wanted to take them a step further. Although he loved to read about new worlds, what if, through science, they could create those new worlds that until then had only been figments of the imagination? _

_In particular, he was interested in ships. His eyes were glued to the newspapers, which were chock full of news about the steadily increasing amount of ships in the Royal Navy fleet. He wanted to see the world, he wanted his own ship—and the Navy seemed the best way to achieve both of those goals. _

_"Thought you were out here." Johnny announced his presence with a clap on his shoulder, offering him a wineglass._

_"No, that's alright." Tony chuckled in amusement as his brother downed the whole thing and shook his head._

_"Enjoying your party?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow._

_"Yes, yes, it's nice, I am. Thank you." _

_"Best thank Mama. She relishes in these things. Though…I do have my uses." Johnny was probably the one that had kept their mother from going over the top and coaxing all of London society to attend Tony's coming home party. Between the charming Johnny and the brash Percy Foyle, Tony Foyle was quieter and more soft-spoken. Johnny was the heir, therefore it was his job to be heard and seen. Percy was the spare, so he did whatever he could to gain attention, and usually succeeded. His latest exploit was joining the Army and getting engaged to a Cecelia Owens, daughter of a Birmingham steel magnate. And Tony saw little else to do except what he was told. He wasn't told much, thank God, because he was neither the heir to his father's title or the backup plan, so he had relative freedom in the way he wanted to live his life. For now, all he wanted was to travel, and to learn how these magnificent machines on which the Empire had been built worked. _

_"So your mind is made up? You want to try for a commission in His Majesty's Navy?" Johnny continued, glancing at him sideways. His voice was neutral, and Tony couldn't tell just what he was thinking. He was like their father in that sense—and many others, to be honest. Physically he was the most similar. He'd inherited their father's bright blue eyes and rosy complexion, while he and Percy took after their Italian mother. He had an air of authority about him—which was understandable, as the eldest—and was even-tempered, much like their father, whereas Percy was loud and direct and sometimes it seemed as if he didn't give a fig about what people thought of him. He was terribly funny as well, as he never really had to be serious. Johnny didn't necessarily approve of it, but if he was jealous of his brother's comparative liberty, he never said._

_"Yes. I'll stay here for a few weeks, then I'm off to Bristol."_

_"And then where, India?"_

_"Wherever King and Country dictate." Tony answered with a smile and another sip of lemonade._

_"Suppose there's a war, brother. What then?" Johnny demanded after a pause, and Tony was caught off guard by his change in tone. _

_"If…if there's a war, then we'll all be called up, won't we?" he inquired, blinking and surprised to find his brother clasping the railing of the balcony, his knuckles white. _

_"They'll take a volunteer army first of course—it's always been that way. If by called up, you mean pressured to join, of course. But you can withstand it. You're young, with your whole life ahead of you…" There was something odd in his voice—lament?—which Tony had not expected._

_"But so do you…you'll be the next Viscount Gillingham, you're going to take care of Lydborn. If that's not a full life—"_

_"It's not the life I want, Tony!" His sharp reply hushed the younger man, and Johnny took a shaky breath, adding, "Not everyone wants to be lord of the county with a little wife and a brood of heirs…"_

_"Surely you don't have to marry now, you've plenty of time…"_

_"I don't want to marry at all." Johnny's back was to him now, and he was facing the water again. "Can you keep a secret?"_

_"Yes—yes of course."_

_"Do you know Peter, my friend from school?"_

_Tony racked his brains for a moment. Peter Falkland, heir to the Earl Cuthbert, he had been Johnny's best friend since Eton. He had always been over at Lydborn, and they always met up for drinks in London. "Yes…yes, of course."_

_"He loves me, Tony. And I love him." He turned around, and for the first time he appeared vulnerable. His eyes were wide, his heart bared, and the figure that Tony had so looked up to ever since he was a child became a simple man…a man that was afraid, terribly afraid, of what his brother thought of him now._

_It took him a moment to understand. "Of course, you must love him, you're best mates—"_

_"No. No, like…like Percy loves Cecelia."_

_"O..oh."_

_Johnny laughed and ran a hand through his thick raven hair. "I don't know why I'm even telling you this, of course you wouldn't understand. I wouldn't tell Percy because he'd just say I needed a good brothel and—"_

_"No. No I…I'm glad you did. I'm glad you trust me that much." Tony shook his head and answered, crossing the balcony and laying a hand on his shoulder as he stood beside him. "Do Mama and Father-?"_

_"No. No…I feel Mama may suspect, but if she does she hasn't said anything."_

_"She wouldn't." Their mother was a good woman, a proud woman, and loved the three of them dearly._

_"And Father would kill me."_

_"You don't know that—"_

_"Yes, I do. I'm his heir, Tony, that's how it works. I need to marry, and I must produce an heir. The problem is I don't…I don't fancy women. I don't think I ever did, come to think of it. At any rate…Percy or you have to take my place. I don't know how…but Peter and I are going to escape from this—I can't do this this, and neither can he."_

_"Surely…surely you don't mean you'll run away."_

_"No, no none of that. I just won't marry. And when I die, Percy will be my heir. That's…if the war doesn't do away with us first."_

_"Don't even say that." Tony insisted, shaking his head again. "You don't know if there's even going to be a war."_

_"Of course there's going to be a war. We're two armed camps, us against them. All that's needed is the light of a fuse and bam. Oblivion. Farewell to civilization." Johnny emphasized his point by snapping his fingers._

_"Well isn't that a cheery thought during my party." Tony pushed him playfully and Johnny mussed his hair. _

_"Sorry, little brother. Just trying to get you to be a realist. But maybe you're right, maybe the idealists _will_ win this round."_

Stone-faced, Tony flicked his fishing rod again, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. Here he was, alone, eight years later. Both of his brothers dead-Johnny at Gallipoli, Percy the first day on the Somme—and him Lord Gillingham. It wasn't right. It was never supposed to be like this. He was supposed to sail the world, Johnny was supposed to be happy, Percy was supposed to be married with children. Percy had died leaving a widow and no child. Johnny had died and taken his secret to the grave. He always wondered, why him? He wasn't more capable—Johnny was the smartest, Percy the social butterfly, while he, he was just the youngest son with a knack for numbers. He supposed that helped when going over the books, but he wasn't of more value than they were.

It was this and why his life had taken the turns it had that he thought of as he stood knee deep in the River Spey, closing his eyes as the cold northern wind ruffled the curls that fell across his tanned forehead. There was something about water that gave him strength. Ever since he was a boy, he was always swimming in lieu of studying, building toy sailboats in his spare time, rowing in the cove near Lydborn…it had made perfect sense for him to want to join the Navy. He felt at home out on the waves. They helped him think, and think he did.

He had barely been engaged to Mabel a month, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about Mary Crawley. Mary, the girl with the upturned nose when they were children whom he had wanted nothing to do with and assumed the feeling was mutual, at least until the day Sybil fell in the lake and Mary tried to save her and then he ended up having to rescue them both. Mary, the woman who had lost the love of her life and still marched on, determined to save her family home. Mary, whose company allowed him to forget for a little while that he too had the fate of an estate in his hands, and that any false move could allow that to go up in flames. He loved her strength, he loved her bravery, and he loved her refusal to back down. He loved her—and it made him wonder if he had ever loved Mabel at all.

Their families wanted it, and that seemed the long and short of it. Oh, yes, Mabel was pleasant to be around, she even made him laugh—a rare occurrence since his father's death—but other than that, what was there on which to build a lasting marriage? That seemed more like a friendship than anything, and not a close one at that. He had never poured his heart out to Mabel. He had never felt the need to tell her that he was scared, that he didn't know what he was doing, that sometimes he wondered if he was cut out for this at all—which he _had_ discussed with Mary.

_But I'm not in love with her, as I am with you_.

There was a sharp tug on the other end of his rod and he hurriedly began to reel the catch in—a salmon, flailing on the other end.

"Ah, well done, Gillingham!" The old Scottish fisherman he had met back at Inverness gave him a toothy grin as he appraised his work, and the edges of his lips curled upward in a slight smile. McDowell, the man was called. He had been buying bait and it just so happened they were headed in the same direction, so he had given him a lift—and made him promise not to call him 'milord'. It was nice to let go of title and duty for once—title and duty which were never supposed to be his.

_I won't make a fool of Mabel_.

Wasn't that what he had told her? That he wouldn't break things off unless she wanted him? _You don't want me._ She had made that clear, what good would it do for him to call things off?

_I'll never love again…_

He said he wanted an early night, and didn't send for Green. Instead, he sat at his desk, pen in hand, staring at the blank sheet of paper before him.

_Dear Mary,_

She had sent him a letter of congratulations weeks ago, and he had not been able to bring himself to write a reply until now—now, when he hadn't seen Mabel in just as long. How could he possibly go back to London now? How could he gaze at her when all he saw was Mary, dearest Mary…

_A fool._

He was the fool to have ever thought that this could work. He couldn't let go…just as she couldn't let go of him, of Matthew. He couldn't tell lies to himself or anyone else, including Mabel. To do so would be to play her for a fool.

_Dear Mary…_

His hand finally began to move, and he wrote, graciously, thanking her for her kind words. _Mabel is…_how could he tell her how Mabel was if he had not seen her? He crumpled the letter and stood, walking over to the window and staring out at the sea, as if its depths would give him answers to the questions that scorched his mind.

He wished his father was here, he had always been better at this than he was. He was a wise and moral man—both qualities which he lacked. Or Johnny, the brave man, or Percy, the one that didn't overthink things.

_A great love…doesn't that enrich any life?_

_Requited or not…_

He sat at the desk again, picking up another sheet and starting anew. _Dear Lady Grantham. _He could write to her mother if not to her. He would be coming back in a week, and he needed a place to stay between here and London. Perhaps it was pushing in, but he needed to see her—to test…if he could do this, if he could turn his back on her and marry Mabel or anyone else for that matter.

_And then I really will go and leave you in peace._


End file.
